


Churches Only Mean Death

by TheVagabondBoy



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Angst, Blood, Churches & Cathedrals, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Gun Violence, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Major Character Injury, Major character death - Freeform, Other characters only mentioned, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 21:05:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11586171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVagabondBoy/pseuds/TheVagabondBoy
Summary: Hm…wouldn’t that be something? The Vagabond, the Devil made flesh in the people’s opinion, bleeding to death over a cathedral altar. Not something you’d see every day.





	Churches Only Mean Death

**Author's Note:**

> this was written in, like, an hour on my phone and is posted on the phone too. If theres any mistakesvor smths fucked up, let me know and ill fix it when i get access to my laptop again
> 
> Originally posted on tumblr and inspired by the picture in said post, which you can find at this link:  
> http://thevagabondboy.tumblr.com/post/163307041440/achievementmicoo-thevagabondboy-the

It was, at the very essence of it, an excersize in resilience.

Why was he even fighting it?

All the others were already dead.

Jack, when the Valkyrie went down, and Geoff, trying his damndest to drag Jack out of the fire, only to be consumed by it as well. The cops got Gavin; he got a full mag to the chest for trying to fight his way out from under their thumb. That, of course, whipped Michael into a frenzy. He had turned his car around before Ryan could talk him out of it, not that Ryan thought he’d ever be able to do that anyway. Michael ran down a load of the cops, killing them under his wheels, before the car caught too many bullets and blew up. Jeremy wasn’t far behind them. He got cornered; the shoot out raged on for what felt like hours. In the end, the cops got him too.

Ryan had to listen to them all die. Jack’s panicked scream crackling in the coms, Geoff’s quiet praying as he dodged the flames, Gavin swearing at the cops, Michael roaring to God and all else who could hear, Jeremy gurgling and drowning in his own blood as it filled his lungs.

It was only Ryan left.

He grunted in pain, digging his fingers into the grooves between the cobbles to drag himself forward. The cathedral towered over him. Spotlights illuminated it, made it look ancient and ethereal and other worldly. Four slugs in the Kevlar vest which made it kind of hard to breathe, one in the shoulder, one in the thigh. He was bleeding out. Quite slowly, yes, but surely, still.

If he got inside the cathedral, he could bottle-neck the cops. At least take a few out with him. It was the most he could hope for now.

He could stop the bleeding. Call the B Team, get them to pick him up. Get him to Caleb to get patched up. He could do it.

But…why? What was left to fight for? All his friends were dead. His found family was gone.

Ryan forced himself onwards. If he was going out, he wouldn’t do it quietly. He’d fight until the last breath left him. Dark dragmarks followed him like a shadow, the blood drying on the stones. He was almost at the cathedral doors. Just a little further. Fuck, he’d have to stand up to get the doors open. That wouldn’t do his leg any favors. Shit…

Still, he fought on until he reached the tall doors. His fingers dug into whatever little hollows they could find, the carved adornments giving for a decent handhold, and grunted in both pain and exertion as he pulled his own weight up. Police sirens blared in the distance, the red and blue lights lighting up the streets. It wouldn’t be long until they tracked him down. Especially since he was leaving a pretty obvious trail of blood.

He got to his feet, leaning on the doors. He weighed on the left leg, to give the injured right less to worry about. The door was heavy, and slow to open. It hurt his whole body to open it, but he couldn’t stop. The sirens and the lights were getting closer. He stumbled inside, door slamming behind him. A choir was singing, rows of people in white robes standing by the altar, and the airy notes of an organ accompanied them. The pews were far from full. Ryan counted twenty, maybe thirty, people; his vision was getting blurry, it was hard to tell for sure.

He pulled his gun out from the back of his jeans and fired two shots upwards at the painted ceiling. The music and singing was replaced with screaming.

“Get out!” Ryan shouted, waving his gun quite aimlessly. “Go! Run! Get out!”

Those who cowered in the pews were quick to move. They hurried out into the aisle and ran past him to the doors, all refusing to look at his masked face. The choir was like a sea of white gowns, washing over him in one heavy wave. One of them bumped into him but continued running, too scared to stop. Ryan actually felt kind of bad for getting blood on that robe. It would be hard to get out.

When the doors closed a final time, Ryan all but collapsed. He had had to appear strong in front of the civilians. If he hadn’t, they would’ve just tried to fight him and he couldn’t have that. Ryan was saving what little fight he had left in him, for the cops.

He leaned on the backrest of the closest pew. He used it as a crutch, and hobbled forward until he could catch the next, to repeat the process again. It was slow and unsteady. He moved forward at a sluggish pace. He had to get to the front few pews, at least. That would be better cover. The police would have to come at him through the aisle, no way around it; a perfect bottle-neck. Better yet, if he got up to the altar. There seemed to be a solid black of marble as its centrepiece, with a big and decorated Bible and various other paraphernalia set up on it. He could crouch down behind that, and have a perfect view all the way up the aisle to the entrance.

The walk from the last pew to the altar was difficult. Up a few low steps, nothing to lean on, breathing getting rougher, head getting lighter, eyelids feeling heavier. Fuck…wasn’t much left in him. Not much of anything at all.

He stumbled on the last step; the point of his boot caught the edge of a stone. He staggered forward. His arms flew out on instinct. He fell forward onto the altar, the sharp edge hitting him right in the chest and knocking the wind out of him. Something clattered and thudded, echoing in the great hall, as it was knocked over and hit the floor.

Ryan groaned, gasping and reeling for air. He didn’t move, though. Tried to, but found his body too worn to listen.

So that was it? This was how he died?

Hm…wouldn’t that be something? The Vagabond, the Devil made flesh in the people’s opinion, bleeding to death over a cathedral altar. Not something you’d see every day.

Could be worse, he supposed. At the moment, he didnt care to imagine how it could be worse, but he was certain that it could, indeed, have been worse. Honestly, bleeding out wasn’t that bad. Besides the pain from the actual wound, it was a relatively painless way to go. He would kind of just…fall asleep, and that would be that; end of story. No dreams, no nightmares, just a peaceful slumber.

Sleep sounded pretty nice. Shutting his eyes, breathing in the smell of fresh sheets, hugging his pillow. Hm, maybe that was the bloodloss talking. He honestly wasn’t sure.

He could hear the sirens just outside the cathedral now. If he was going to make a stand, now would be the time. Maybe…after a little nap? Just to rest his eyes for a minute. No. No sleeping. Not yet. Soon, but not yet. God, he could barely breathe. He got his hand to listen to his orders. He pawed at the mask, bloodied fingers trembling, until he got a decent enough hold on it and could pull it off.

He breathed as deep as he could, fire burning in his lungs.

God, he missed everyone already. The loss sat like a ton of rocks in his chest. Geoff’s voice cracking under pressure and his howling laughter, Jack’s dry humor and quiet quips that Ryan only managed to catch once in a while, Gavin’s utter ridiculousness and his screaming squawks, Michael’s cursing and yelling and raging, Jeremy’s soft giggles and ferocious fighting spirit. Fuck…he was never going to see them again.

Ryan wished he had been more open with them. Trusted them sooner. Showed them how much he cared about them. God, now he was crying…fucking hell. Then again, dying would make anyone emotional, he supposed.

He didn’t believe in an afterlife, and yet, he really hoped there was one. And he hoped the others were there. That he’d get there, and they’d all be there, waiting for him. He hoped that when he got there, he could embrace them all, one after the other, and tell them how happy he was to see them. It would be a good time. Be it Heaven or Hell, it didn’t matter, so long as he got to see them again.

Maybe, just maybe, this was how it was supposed to go. Live, love, let go. People said that, right? Well…Ryan lived. Ryan loved.

Ryan let go.

**Author's Note:**

> Im sorry..


End file.
